


Celebrations

by Crystalwren



Category: Saiunkoku Monogatari
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalwren/pseuds/Crystalwren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shurei has been planning this for a very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrations

It’s so late it’s almost early, the darkest hours before dawn, but it keeps going on and on. The celebration of a lifetime: the joyous occasion of Emperor Ryuki’s marriage to Jyusan-hime, and the entire city is one gigantic party. Fireworks, music, dancing, the streets so thronged with revellers that Shurei and Seiran, as weary and footsore as they were, couldn’t have taken a rickshaw if their lives depended on it.

“Father?” Shurei calls as they limp through the door, but there’s no answer and the candles have been left to burn low. They are the only ones home. Shouka is still at the palace. She sways as she bends down to take off her formal slippers, and Seiran takes her elbow to steady her. “Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome, milady,” and he winces when he hears the roughness in his own voice. Too many toasts to the happy couple, long may they reign. Too many conversations, high politics venomously disguised as small talk; too many cheers at each marvellous explosion of colours in the sky. Too many, too many. Seiran is bone-weary, and after an endless banquet of delicacies and rarities, he desires nothing in this world so much as cup of tea.

“I’ll go fetch some water,” Seiran says, and pads off down the hall. He strips as he goes; layers of formal armour and coarse silk, gorgeous to look at but hideously uncomfortable to wear. When he’s finally down to his last layer, light linen trousers and tunic, feet bare, he stops and scratches, like he’s wanted to all night. It feels so good he wishes he could save some in a bottle for later. But-

“Seiran? Can you help me please?”

-there’s milady to look after, and there’s truly no greater pleasure than that in the world. “Just a moment,” he calls, kicking the pile of discarded garments into an unoccupied room. He draws water from the well and follows the sound of her voice.

Shurei is in her bedchamber, struggling with her elaborate headdress and robes, and for the most part losing. Any wager that the weight of those is far greater than Seiran’s armour, and for milady to have carried them all night doesn’t really seem right; any burden that Shurei carries Seiran would gladly take from her and bear himself. “If you can just stand still, milady, and tell me where to start.”

“The headdress.”

She stands with her back to him, but turns her face to her mirror of polished bronze to watch. He cups her shoulders gently, and with infinite tenderness, kisses the scant inch of bare skin on the back of her neck. She shudders, but doesn’t turn around. “The headdress, Seiran,” she says again, and shuts her eyes. She looks as weary as Seiran feels.

First the chrysanthemum, already drooping and browned at the edges of the petals. Then the heavy, massively jewelled pin that Ryuki had given her so long ago. Half a dozen smaller pins, and finally the whole intricate knot is loosening. He unclasps the golden crown and lays that aside with everything else, and all that’s left are the dozens of tiny, invisible pins that kept the whole arrangement in place. One by one, he finds them and tugs them free until Shurei’s mass of hair uncoils and drops heavy down her back. It’s sweat damp and slick with scented oil under his fingertips as he digs his fingers in against her scalp, and Shurei moans as he scratches away the itch. Her head droops; she looks dishevelled and barely awake; her lipstick has a tiny smudge in the corner of her mouth; she’s the most desirable woman Seiran has ever seen.

“Now the robes,” she says finally, and Seiran swallows. There’s a tie buried underneath her heavy belt, and he can just feel the curve of her back if he presses hard enough. The layers of fabric are dense and heavy and drag him down; he barely catches her belt before it falls. He lays that on her bed and brings his arms about her, lingering for just a second. Then he pulls off the heavy outer robe, stiff with embroidery and beading and he’d swear that the thing weighs twice as much as his whole set of armour combined. Then all that’s left are the layers and layers of lighter silk, and her eyes meet his in the mirror as she steps away from him. “That will do, Seiran. Go and put some water to boil. I’ll be there shortly.”

Seiran bows and leaves, politely shutting the door behind him. He waits until he hears the rattle of jewellery against her desk. He closes his eyes and puts his nose to his fingertips, reaches out with his tongue to taste her sweat and hair oil, salt and bitter combined. It’s better than anything like that has a right to be, and he rubs his fingers through his own hair so that he can smell like her. Then he takes up his discarded bucket, goes to the kitchen and sets the water to boil.

When Shurei finally appears the water is just beginning to steam. Tiredness makes her hands clumsy as she fetches the tea things, the cups and teapot rattling slightly as she measures the leaves and pours the water. One spoon for each person and one for the pot she always tells him, and spin the pot three times around before you pour. That’s the secret behind the perfect cup of tea. “Thank you, milady,” says Seiran. Even though he’s watched Shurei do this a thousand times he still couldn’t do it to save his life. It’s embarrassing, but deep down inside he thinks that there’s nothing so delicious as the tea Shurei makes just for him and he’s glad that he can’t.

A large firework goes off particularly near, sounding like a clap of thunder. Shurei shudders and shifts in her seat. It’s been years since Shurei cried during thunderstorms, but she still hates them. A long lock of her loose hair slips over her shoulder and drops onto the table. “Seiran,” she whispers, “Do you…do you think I’ve made the right decision? Should I have said yes?”

If Shurei had accepted Ryuki’s proposal it would be her in the palace right now. It would be her by Ryuki’s side, and she’d no longer be milady, but empress.

The whole idea of her as someone else’s wife makes Seiran want to kill something. He knows that others have stolen kisses and embraces from her: Sakujun, Kochu, Ryuki, even Santa. Sometimes the jealousy keeps him awake at night. Then he remembers those nights when the storm was screaming through the city, and Shurei had crept trembling into his bed. Those shy little experimental caresses when she thought he was asleep and wouldn’t know. He remembers her mouth against the corner of his, her hands gliding feather-like across his chest, and he hides his smile behind his cup. Seiran had stolen those kisses long before anyone else.

“Yes, I think you have.” And it’s not just selfish possessiveness that makes him say that. The truth is that life as an empress would have driven Shurei slowly but surely insane. Always watched, every move scrutinised, always regimented by ceremony and tradition. One by one, all the things she loved would have slipped away. Shurei desires nothing so much as to serve her country, but she cannot do it the way an empress must.

They lapse into silence. Seiran empties his cup and dips his finger in the dregs so he can draw random lines on the tabletop. It’s a warm night and the moisture evaporates quickly. He writes, “I love you,” and looks up quickly. Shurei is staring blankly at the wall behind his left ear and when he looks down again, the writing is already gone.

Shurei sobs. Just once. Quietly, before pressing her hand to her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. “Shurei,” Seiran reaches for her but she shakes her head, draws away.

“I won’t…” she says hoarsely, “I won’t spend my life regretting it. I won’t. I love Ryuki. I always will. But I couldn’t love him the way he wanted me to. When I watched the ceremony all I felt was relief that I wasn’t the one next to him. Does this make me a bad person?”

“I don’t know,” Seiran tells her, “But I felt exactly the same.”

The corner of her mouth tilts up and Seiran knows that she’s going to say something to tease him, something like about her never known about him having such affection for Ryuki, but as soon as she opens her mouth she closes it again. Maybe the expression in Seiran’s eyes is too raw. Shurei turns away. “It’s so late,” she says. “We should be getting to bed now.”

There’s a limp in her gait as she moves about the kitchen, putting away the tea things, banking the fire and turning the lamps low. Those formal slippers must have pinched terribly, and he bends down to murmur in her ear. “Sit back down. I’ll rub your feet.” Shurei’s busy hands still for a heartbeat, and then slowly, she nods. She sinks back into her chair and Seiran kneels in front of her. She raises her leg. Seiran cups her heel as she sets the sole of her foot against his chest and very gently, pushes.

Their eyes meet.

The thin cotton of her stocking is damp under his fingers. Seiran can barely make himself breathe as he slides his hand under her robe.

The space behind her knee is hot and silky and he wants to taste it. He doesn’t break the stare as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks. He thinks that this might be the most intense moment of his entire life, and it tastes like salt.

Shurei moans.

In there’s just enough light for Seiran to see as she shuts her eyes and arches her back. A gentle squeeze to her tiny foot, and he presses against the ball of her foot. “There?”

“Oh, yes.”

He stretches out her toes one by one, rolls them between thumb and forefinger. Digs into the arch of her foot, kneads the flesh of her heel. Shurei keeps making noise, these erotic little sounds and it’s enough to drive him crazy, enough to make him want to take her little foot and press it just there into his lap. Years ago he’d met a man who’d told Seiran that the only time he was able to reach climax was when a beautiful woman took his penis between her bare feet. Seiran had thought the man insane at the time but he’s beginning to understand now. When Shurei moans again and cups her own breast it’s enough to drive Seiran into a frenzy. He pushes up her robe and slides his hand between her thighs, and that’s when he discovers that she’s not wearing any underwear. Coarse pubic hair contrasting with slick wet flesh and he whimpers pathetically when she grabs his hand and forces it away.

“Not yet,” she breathes, “Not yet.” Shurei grabs a handful of his hair and twists it, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. She pulls him towards her and into a bruising kiss. When her tongue touches his, he remembers again those cherished, childish kisses she’d stolen from him when she thought he’d slept. So much had changed. So much. Later he’d think back on how sweet they’d been and miss them, but right now Shurei’s kisses are fire and like to burn.

He’s kneeling between her spread thighs and she tugs her robe open, showing him those perfect, round little breasts that he’s so often dreamed of. “Gently,” she tells him, her hand in his hair and anything but. The pressure guides him down to take one dark aureole into his mouth. It’s surely the softest thing he’s ever touched and he works his lips against it, marvelling. The other one is even softer and he switches back to the first to make sure but he can’t decide which is the softest. He keeps moving from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth, trying to make up his mind and he could really do this all night, forever even, except that his knees are going numb on the bare stone of the floor and. “Shurei,” he starts to say, but she sets her knee against him and pushes him away. Falling limply, he lands on his back, looks up at her. There’s a burning feeling on the inside of his skull, a whole fistful of brand new sexual kinks etching themselves in and making themselves at home. If she puts a bridle on him he’d neigh like a horse.

“Come with me,” Shurei says, and a note of uncertainty flickers into her voice. “That’s if…that’s if you want to.”

“There’s nothing in the world I want more,” Seiran tells her with absolute honesty, and she reaches out for him, takes him by the hand and shows him the way. Past their respective bedchambers and the various rooms in use, to the greater section of the house which stands empty. She takes him to a large guest room that hasn’t been used in years and Seiran is surprised to discover it brightly lit and that the rotten smell of the old big mattress is gone, the water stains in the ceiling repaired. The room smells clean and faintly of Shurei’s scent. Seiran looks at the new mattress and the clean linen and realises that she’s been planning this for a very long time. “Shurei,” he says hoarsely, and reaches for her. He kisses her on the mouth, her chin, her jaw, gropes inside of her loosened robe for one of those perfect little breasts, but she grabs his wrists and pushes his hands away.

“Seiran,” she breathes, “Will you do something for me?”

“Yes. Yesss,” Seiran hisses, trying to kiss her again, but she steps away.

“I want you to do everything I tell you to.”

It’s everything Seiran can do to stop himself falling to his knees. “Anything. Anything you want.”

“Get undressed.” Seiran’s hand flies to the opening of his tunic. “Slowly. Slowly.” She licks her lips. Looks away for a split second and that’s when Seiran realises that she’s more nervous than he is. Disappointment floods through him because there’s nothing right now he wants than to be under her complete control. Then just as quickly, he weighs up the tactical advantage. The slower it goes- the more time and effort she puts in- the harder they both try to make it perfect- the harder it becomes for either of them to pretend that nothing happened when daylight came. The longer this lasts the harder it will be for her to leave him afterwards.

Seiran gets undressed. Slowly.

He pulls his tunic over his head, drops it to the floor. Next his shirt. Then he stops, watching her. “Is this enough?”

Shurei reaches out, presses her hand against his abdomen. She scratches her thumbnail through the thin line of hair that runs from his navel to his groin, and stops at his trousers. He can hear her swallow. “All of it,” she tells him.

With infinite slowness, Seiran tugs loose the drawstring of his trousers. They slip down his hips, puddle at his feet. Very deliberately, he sets his hand on Shurei’s shoulder and leans against her as he steps out of them. Then his stockings. Then, finally, his underwear. His penis juts out and Shurei blushes hard.

She steps away from his hand, and carefully step around him. The rasp of her roughened fingertips across his buttock makes him shudder, and he can barely stand it when she embraces him from behind. An entire lifetime of military discipline is barely enough to stop him from rocking up when she takes him in hand. “How does this feel?” she murmurs, her breath damp against his back.

“Wonderful,” Seiran says hoarsely. “It’s better than anything else in the world.” There’s an unladylike snort and a giggle.

“How you exaggerate,” Shurei tells him. They stay like that for a while, with Shurei’s arms wrapped tight around him. And eventually, Shurei’s hands begin to move. Shyly she cups his testicles, rolls the tender flesh between her fingers, her calluses catching at the little hairs. Those roughened fingertips catch at the little hairs and when she slides her hot little hand behind the sac and between her thighs, Seiran can barely stand it.

“Shurei-”

“Let me. Please let me.”

Seiran moans. He feels her hot, wet mouth against his back and then her sharp little teeth begin to worry at him. It seems like there’s a dozen hands on him instead of just two, and it’s so good, better than he could ever had dreamed, Shurei’s touch imperfect and uncertain and beautiful, and the entire world is cupped in her palms and she’s his and not anyone else’s and he loves her more than the breath in her lungs and she’s too light in some places and too rough in others and it’s so so incredible that he’s actually sobbing when he comes. It’s a storm without thunder and this time, it’s Shurei who holds him.

To his knees once more. Seiran just breaths. He almost shouts when she moves away, but then he sees her wiping her hands on a towel she’s fastidiously placed nearby. Flopping boneless on the floor, he’s too exhausted to do anything but watch as she strips. Taking delicate little steps, Shurei approaches. She pokes him with her toe, mischief in her eyes. “That good?”

“I think you killed me.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Because I’m in heaven.” It’s a dreadfully sappy thing to say, but the embarrassment is worth it when it makes her laugh.

Eventually the laughter fades away, and she’s back to staring at him, stroking him absently with her foot. If Shurei’s not careful, she’s going to cop the full brunt of Seiran’s brand new fetish. He shudders and she gives her toes an extra wiggle. “Get on your knees, Seiran,” and he rolls up, bends his head submissively. She’s so tiny that kneeling he’s almost as tall as she is standing. Seiran doesn’t mind. This just puts him at the perfect height for those delicious little breasts of hers, and when she comes close he indulges himself with a taste.

“I want to do something else,” she whispers.

“Anything you want,” he whispers back.

Then she shows him the blindfold, and Seiran smiles.

Blinded, he takes her hand. Blinded, he follows her to the bed. Blinded, he lets her tie him with silk. Blinded, he waits for her to take him inside.

“Seiran?” Shurei’s voice suddenly cracking and uncertain. Her hands flutter against his chest, and he realises just how hard she’s working to make both of their fantasies come true.

“It’s all right,” he tells her. “I can wait. I can wait.”

Shurei lets out a great sigh and lies down. Her sleek limbs jostle against his coarser ones and the hot little place between her legs is slick against his thigh. And when she is ready, she begins to move.

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted to LJ in 2009.


End file.
